


The Perfect Anomaly

by RurouniHime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Foreign Language, Introspection, Language Kink, M/M, Porn With Plot, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sleepy Sex, Smoking, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-22
Updated: 2011-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seamus liked being inside Blaise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Anomaly

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so. For the record, this was written back before anyone had any idea what Blaise Zabini looked like, if he was a boy or a girl, if he was black or white or Italian or a kumquat in human clothing. I happened to go with Italian, and he's definitely human, though it's possible he likes kumquats. ^__^
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to Snoy, Devon and April for help with translations.

Seamus liked being inside Blaise. He liked how the undersides of Blaise's thighs felt against the tops of his, the coarse dark hair running down the back of each of his legs. He liked the odd arch of Blaise's body, pinpointing where the bottom of his ribcage lay, the almost startling concave accentuation of his stomach. Blaise's eyes always fell half-shut as he neared the height of his climax, and sometimes he would mutter in Italian. Seamus wondered every time if Blaise knew he was doing it, if he realized how the words shaped themselves in his own mouth, and how curled and fragrant they sounded lolling in Seamus' ear. He wondered whether the other man was aware of Seamus' knowledge that, if he grabbed Blaise's waist and massaged the hollows of his hips with each thumb, the other man would _swear_ at him in Italian.

And if Seamus switched to Gaelic just as he stroked downward on the small stretch of skin between Blaise's scrotum and his anus - _mo chuisle… go síoraí_ \- he could make him come right then.

Blaise had a low voice. It was cultured, melodic, even when used to cry out his passion or discomfort. Even when swearing, and _especially_ in Italian. Seamus treated it like part of the inherent nature of the world, sewn into the very fabric of the pillows they used to prop Blaise's hips higher, to soften the ache in his back after a more strenuous round. For Blaise was sinuous as well, much like the snake of his old school house, and he voiced his aches: the effort of arching his back against Seamus' thrusts, the strain of his legs pressing tight enough to cut off Seamus' breath, the curl of nails into the soft flesh of his thighs. Seamus sought the moments when that voice nearly vanished, when his own name was half uttered, half lost in a rush of hot air from lips glistening with sweat. He breathed in his own half-name on breaths turned sultry sweet from the clove cigarettes Blaise smoked. He gathered on his tongue every droplet of sweat that Blaise allowed him to have before a single word was forced from oxygen-starved lungs, _basta!_ and the other man caught his tongue between his teeth, sucking Seamus down into a kiss. It was the kiss that made Seamus come an instant later, made him tear his mouth away to voice his own perfect anguish.

Seamus liked that he didn't have to tell Blaise what a condom was, and he liked even more that they had enough knowledge to bespell the small sheath of latex, making it seem like it was not there. The truth was, Seamus hated wearing condoms, though it had been three years since he had gone without. He could always feel them cold and tight against his penis, never quite enveloped in the intense heat on the other side.

He was always amazed by the sheer heat of Blaise's body when he was aroused. It was pure and voluminous and encompassing, as if the other man were being burned from the inside out. As soon as Seamus was crouched over him, their hips a scant foot apart, Blaise would kick at all the loose sheets and blankets until they tumbled off the bed in a heap, and sink back fidgeting, heat veritably radiating off him. It was almost painful to touch his skin. And when Seamus let their bodies connect, searing himself with that roiling fire, Blaise's fingers twisted and pulled at the sheet beneath him, as if trying to cast that from him as well. The way he rolled his body up to meet Seamus' as if something inside were attempting escape from the unbearable inferno… Seamus both longed for it, and felt scarred by it.

Seamus did not like when Blaise was inside him. He felt anchored to a heavy rock at his back, pushed full of that delicious but terrifying heat. Wanting simultaneously to speed his movements to an otherworldly momentum, and to cease all movement until he grew used to the intrusion. It never happened, no matter the care Blaise took to open him wide, to rub his fingertips across his prostate until he bit a bloody slice into his lower lip, to ease himself in so slowly Seamus thought he would go mad with the effort to keep still. He could not grow accustomed to being flat on his back, his body reacting to Blaise's but his cock still out in the cooler air of the room. The two sensations at the same moment did not make sense to him; one was too fast, the other smacked of slowness, and it made Seamus grit his teeth and go rigid with anxiety long before he went rigid with pleasure.

But he did it, sometimes. Not because Blaise asked; no, because Blaise said nothing about it at all, and Seamus still knew he wanted it.

It was not often. Blaise liked to be filled, anchored, and Seamus knew the other man felt something other than what he himself went through. Blaise seemed to be on another level of rapport with his own body, almost completely under its sway. The way he shifted onto his side on the sheets, the way he tilted his long neck to flick hair from his eyes, it looked as if he longed to be forever moving, rising and thrusting and writhing until he found the satisfaction he most desired. Seamus loved the quivery ripple of Blaise's muscles around the tip of his cock when he first breached his body, the way Blaise tried to force him deeper, rolling his hips up before he was loose enough. Seamus' hand pressed on the juncture between hip and leg, holding him still, and Blaise's long lashes lowered over his eyes. Seamus liked taking his time with Blaise's body, knowing it almost better than the other man did, or at least, caring about it more. He relished every inch of that hot passage up through him, the flex and release of each muscle letting him in. He knew the instant he was in as far as he could go, and likewise knew from the way Blaise's nostrils flared that the other man was figuring it out yet again.

They did not always face each other. Seamus knew different angles had benefits all their own, and sometimes he entered Blaise from behind. It never failed to scare him because he had less control over how quickly Blaise's body moved that way. Blaise keened when he was breached too swiftly, a rising, falling sound Seamus loved, and then felt ashamed for loving. There was pain in it, relentless choking desire, the sound of a deep-seated need, met at last. It made Seamus' toes tingle to hear it, and Blaise inevitably silenced his own cry by turning his head and finding Seamus' mouth, cutting off his apologies as well.

The skin of Seamus' chest felt somehow over-sensitized in those instances, and he could suddenly feel the twitch and strain of every muscle in Blaise's back. Bronzed skin almost burnished in the light of a guttering candle, damp with sweat and sliding over his own skin. Seamus wound his arm around Blaise's stomach, pressing against the tense muscles there, and rose on his knees with each thrust, hearing a different kind of keening then, helpless and beyond words. Blaise's erection was something to hold, to be fisted and pulled, his scrotum to be kneaded and squeezed and adored. But that became secondary when Seamus found what he really wanted, linking his fingers around the wrist of Blaise's left arm and lifting it up over his own head until the man's clenching fingers brushed his shoulder. Blaise's skin was pale on the underside of his arm, and Seamus mouthed it, sliding teeth over the soft flesh and worrying it with red marks. With every thrust, every breathless cry from his partner, Seamus fixed his eyes there on that white flesh, beautifully unmarked save for the claims he himself made, and felt an ache start up inside.

Marks were evidence of what one did for oneself, and for others. Seamus had many of his own, scars speckled here and there, cleaving the skin of his leg, his face. But their absence could appear more plainly, an un-mark of what had been given up for another. Seamus had long trained himself to banish the meaning of Blaise's unmarred skin from his mind. It was enough to see it. Taste it. Touch it. Hold it between his fingers in the darkness and feel that he was somehow inside it, as he was inside Blaise.

Seamus did not like fucking Blaise. That wasn't what they did. He never really gave voice to what it was they _were_ doing, but his body understood the difference.

Some nights Seamus was roused in the cool after-midnight hours, a leg already easing his own apart, an erection pressed into his side. Blaise woke slowly, much more so than Seamus did, sliding up over his body while still half asleep. He would settle his warm chest on Seamus' and find his mouth with lips that were already flushed with heat. Seamus liked those kisses, deep, full of tongue, his own hands winding through curling black hair. Blaise was never in a hurry those nights, not at first; his body was content to let his mouth move in its stead. Seamus returned every slide of tongue, stroking the roof of Blaise's mouth. He nipped the full lower lip offered to him, grazed his teeth over the soft flesh there. For minutes at a time, Blaise's body heat rose and fell, built and receded, until finally the rest of him caught up and Blaise rubbed himself against Seamus' stomach in short swift strokes, climaxing with a gasp and sliding back down to that sated-but-waiting level of awareness he seemed to reside in. Then he would bring Seamus off, wrapping long rough fingers over his cock until he came, and those nights were nice.

But Seamus was glad tonight was not one of those nights.

Tonight, Blaise's eyes were dark, chasms so black Seamus felt he could see straight into the soul of the earth. It was unnerving, how bottomless his eyes became, deep enough to swallow him whole. The heat was beating from his skin in vibrating gusts, and Seamus stilled Blaise's hips against the movement they craved. His hands traced over Blaise's chest, massaging the tension from his skin. He found the other man's heartbeat, fluttery and rapid against his palm, echoed in the tremor just below his throat.

He wanted to dip his tongue into Blaise's navel. It was the deepest Seamus had ever seen, angled downward toward his pelvis, and the trail of hair that wound up from it went slightly off center before vanishing. He let his hand drift downward instead, palming Blaise's erection. Blaise let out a whoosh of air. The timorous, shivery clench of the muscles around Seamus' cock made him hiss, and he began to move. Short, shallow thrusts, angled just deep enough to make the other man exhale each time, and then a sudden deep stroke against the inner surfaces of his body, languid and methodical. It was not new, but Blaise's reaction was worthy of witnessing every time. Always torn, an agonized arch off the bed followed by a quick curl at the shoulders. His head rose, voice shattered and mewling. Seamus caught him in the crook of one arm and pushed forward again, brushing Blaise's open mouth with his lips before fixing them to the base of his throat.

Blaise's breath shortened to tortured pants as Seamus thrust into him. His hips rocked and shuddered against Seamus', twisting to find new angles, and he threw his head back and gasped painfully, exposing his throat. It had frightened Seamus before, this sudden, desperate struggle for air. He'd been terrified, certain Blaise could not breathe. But now it was a reassuring sight, an element pulsing through the room, through Blaise's sweat-soaked hair, through Seamus' hips and chest and legs and cock, through the tightening walls of Blaise's body, through the hands that clenched Seamus' hair much too tightly. It echoed in the choked gasps, the half-spoken name _Sea…Seam…_ and the words spindled around it _amore si mio amore— un poco più oh mio dio non smetti per piacere_ , in the heat flooding through Seamus' body. The way he found Blaise's mouth and finally admitted in gasping, fractured syllables that he knew exactly what this was; the way Blaise cried out and came, cum shooting out to coat Seamus' chest. The way Seamus' orgasm followed hard on its heels and left him weak and dizzy, absolutely consumed by the ardor in Blaise's eyes. He fell forward, caught in the shudders that wracked the other's body, lost in the aftermath of his own orgasm.

Blaise dropped back onto the bed under his weight, chest heaving, lips finding Seamus' forehead in a fierce, trembling kiss. Seamus ran his hands up and down Blaise's sides, tracing the lines of his ribs, the sticky, sweaty expanses of skin. Blaise's legs tightened around him and his breath hitched as the last aftershocks gripped him. Seamus drew his hands up from the quivering hips beneath his and slid his arms under Blaise's shoulders. He turned his face into his lover's throat, where a still-rapid pulse fluttered. Blaise's breathing quieted gradually. His words became understandable again, soft murmurs in English. Seamus sucked in a deep breath and kissed the skin of Blaise's throat, over and over and over, drunk on a flood of lazy awareness.

There was a term for Blaise. But all his perfections and anomalies were the same in Seamus' eyes.

 

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Blaise's Italian: "Enough!" and then "Love, yes, my love, a little more, oh my god, please don't stop."
> 
> Seamus' Gaelic: "My pulse (or my love), forever."


End file.
